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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993153">in a crowd of thousands (i'd find you again)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart'>sangiebyheart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), WayV (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 &amp; Broadway) Fusion, Dialogue Heavy, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Song: In a Crowd Of Thousands (Anastasia Broadway)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:35:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes, face wet with tears and sweat, panting heavily. Disorientation is his guide into the real world, and he whips his head around and around to check for the voices, for any proof that they were here for his mind’s torture, but there are none, only a figure running towards him in obvious fear and outrage.</p><p>“TEN!” the figure calls, and disorientation goes, just like Ten’s family, but Kun approaches in their stead, a pretty frown on his pretty face etched with pretty concern.</p><p>•</p><p>Or, in which Ten's nightmares terrorize him, Kun comes to his rescue and revelations come to light neither of them could have imagined.</p><p>Or, or, a rewrite of "In a Crowd of Thousands" from the fabulous musical Anastasia.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in a crowd of thousands (i'd find you again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello kunten nation! </p><p>this work of fiction is based on the song and scene <a href="https://youtu.be/0bseJt7MMrE">in a crowd of thousands</a> from the musical version of anastasia! it is rather self-indulgent, as i don't think there are too many (or any) kuntenists who are also into the musical, but hey! i believe you could still like this.</p><p>a big thanks to my friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayounarahitori/pseuds/sayounarahitori"> sayounarahitori</a> who has helped me pick doyoung as the hand of the king and has lend me an ear when this idea was but an inkling and i needed an outlet. &lt;3</p><p>slight trigger warning for the beginning of this:<br/>if death or allusions to it, or gun violence, in any way bother you, there is nothing too explicit, but it is there and induces anxiety in the main character of this work. please proceed with caution.<br/>you can skip the entire section if you wish to, and start at "He hears nothing at all", which should be found easily, as it's in between to extra spaces.</p><p>other than that, please enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One would suppose that, after an entire lifetime of night terrors, Ten might get used to them sooner or later – the same routine, every single night, the same voices, faces, blank and cold stares, calling out to him from a sea of nothing which surrounds him. The air is shrouded in different shades of a dark, looming purple, of black and gray mixing with the ice of the stares, leaving Ten shivering in the thick of it, uncertain eyes jumping from one dead soul to another.</p><p>This is all he can make sense of, really – that the people who revisit him night upon night, year after year, have lost their place in the world of the living, lost their place to find a connection to Ten in a different way. Or perhaps, it is Ten who has lost the connection, because ghosts do not come to you as strangers, do not call out so desperately, so open in their distress, to anyone they are not willing to trust with their misery. So, they tug, so they tear, never begging though stern in their insistence, but Ten cannot remember them, cannot decipher the meaning behind their graceful movements or their practiced composure, nor how they whisper in his ears like a mantra, <em>we will come, dear child. We will come until you remember us.</em></p><p>They crowd his vision, they dance and prance around him, women and men and children closing in on him until there is no space left, until Ten stands on his tiptoes, arms wound tightly around his slender waist or his buzzing skull, praying for the safety of knowledge to free him. It does not, it never does, for why should it when even the light of day cannot begin to unriddle the depths of his memory, and Ten learns and learns but cannot find himself in his studies?</p><p>Who is he to imagine himself as a prince, studying mannerism after mannerism, performing the personality of a child and pushing it further, further, until he does not remember where he, himself, ends and the true charade begins? Who is he to imagine a life free of street sweeping, of odd jobs in the country side and even odder ones in the city, a life in which he is being served and treated heavenly, because he is a prince whose every wish is to be read off his very lip?</p><p>Who is Ten to imagine himself as someone he could never be?</p><p>Who...?</p><p><em>Who is Ten?</em> asks the child, there is always a child, after he tells him a secret.</p><p><em>I’m going to die soon</em>, he says, serene, is his secret. Ten shudders, and tells a secret of himself.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know who I am.</em>
</p><p>The child laughs at him, and he always laughs so brightly, declares Ten <em>silly, everybody knows who they are</em>. And Ten curls into himself, falling to his knees as the space gets even smaller and darker and stuffier, but he does not cry, for he will not give into these shadows and voices, insists and insists that they are just figments of his imagination, they are gone, they cannot harm him.</p><p>A soothing voice, not unlike one of a loving mother, breaks through the turmoil, clearing a path just for herself, which has Ten look up and search for her, for the honey and nectar of this voice, the warmth amidst the cold, his saving grace.</p><p>Always a fool, Ten. In his belief to have found a companion, a savior, as he never seems to realize that he is the only one with the answers to his questions. No one else can pull him out of the darkness, out of the hole, and yet, he sits there, lost and lonely and empty, bones and muscles weakened from the pressure of his own head weighing down on them.</p><p>The voice begins to tell him to <em>pray before bed, my child, for God is everything</em>, but Ten does not believe in any God, or reigning entity, no superior creator of the universe, and still, on his knees, shaky hands clasp together in search of his belief. A reward, he expects the reward for fulfilling his duty, as he feels a mother’s kiss on his forehead, recognizes it from the flow of heat it sets off within him and he is momentarily freed from the burdens of his ignorance. The kiss is weighed in gold, its meaning heavy and unique every time, no matter how many dreams Ten has experienced it. He takes ahold of the sensation, pulling at it, unwilling to let it go when it flows away from him, down the stream of black and gray, further into the purple horizon, and he has to give up, as you cannot keep holding onto nothing. Though desperation clings to his meager frame as Ten takes step after step to chase the sensation, falling further down until he is clad in black and the surface is out of his reach, and all the light from above his head comes through a tiny hole, where eyes peak through, piercing and silent and dead. He hears guns click, he hears guns shoot and he hears screams and the hole closes and suddenly, his own scream rings in his ears and he hears it, deep down in his isolation, until—</p><p> </p><p>He hears nothing at all.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>MAMA</em>!”</p><p>He wakes, face wet with tears and sweat, panting heavily. Disorientation is his guide into the real world, and he whips his head around and around to check for the voices, for any proof that they were here for his mind’s torture, but there are none, only a figure running towards him in obvious fear and outrage.</p><p>“TEN!” the figure calls, and disorientation goes, just like Ten’s family, but Kun approaches in their stead, a pretty frown on his pretty face etched with pretty concern. Ten is giving off a terrifying image, that much is clear, and he must have yelled his way into wakefulness – Kun, in his white tank top and pajama pants, startled awake so quickly, and he charged for Ten’s room as soon as he heard his struggle through the walls.</p><p>“Ten, hey, are you all right?” Kun asks, as Ten falls into his arms the instant Kun’s hands reach for him, and he does not realize he needed Kun’s embrace before he had already found his way into it.</p><p>“The voices,” Ten cries, sniffles, into the fabric of Kun’s tank top, “they came back.”</p><p>Kun does not know of the voices, has thus far been spared of Ten’s troubling nightmares and their aftermath, as Ten usually woke in quiet distress, left to deal with his emotional baggage on his own. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Kun’s breath fans against his ears, as he says, words gruff with disuse, “That's all they are, voices. They can't hurt you.”</p><p><em>Not while I am here</em>, Kun thinks, but does not dare say aloud – instead, his hold tightens, and fingers sneak into the silkiness of Ten’s jet-black hair, curling at the nape of his neck and massaging his scalp in circular motions. If Ten were a cat – one of those felines he used to take care of back in the city, when he realized street sweepers were not the only creatures life had dropped at the bottom of the heap – he would have purred so perfectly, it might have flustered not only Kun but himself, too.</p><p>“Stay with me, please,” Ten murmurs in his moment of weakness. “I’m frightened.”</p><p>Kun obeys his wishes without a second thought, and for a while, Ten focuses on nothing but the steady heartbeat he feels beneath his fingers, hands on Kun’s torso. He does not come down so easily, though, no matter how quickly Kun’s presence thaws the icy cage around his heart. In their journey to the greatness that is the city of Seoul, many times over Ten would have loved to pretend his blossoming feelings were no more than superficial attraction, an incentive to tease and flirt with Kun on the surface, all to his enjoyment and intent to bury his true feelings deep, deep, deep within himself, never to see the sunlight. And nevertheless, without intending to do so, from the pits of his stomach, Kun has fought his way into Ten’s heart, and their relationship has developed from an acquaintanceship between bickering souls whose differences stood in the way of amicability, to a companionship like no other Ten has ever had the pleasure of before, not even with the third in their little trio, Yangyang.</p><p>Kun just had a way with him, could make him wish to come as close as he can possibly manage, as though a string connected their pinky fingers and Kun pulled until Ten was near enough, pulled Ten’s feelings along with him, and would not stop until he was sated.</p><p>There is a line, however – a line neither has dared to cross just yet. And Ten is unsure if they ever will.</p><p>Ten is aware of their situation – how could he not be, when he has a notebook full of information on Prince Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul and his family, margins adorned with his drawings, sitting on the bedside table, ready to be picked up and studied until Ten knows everything by heart. As is expected of him, if he wishes to have an actual chance at reuniting with his family, if he wishes to have the privilege of knowledge for once, be he the real prince or no. The prince's cousin – <em>His Majesty, the King</em> – Lee Taeyong will only be the judge of that if Ten manages to pass the tests beforehand, tests conducted by the Hand of the King, Kim Dongyoung, to prove Ten a genuine candidate, with sincere intentions and no hidden schemes to steal the mighty reward. Ten has heard of many people trying these sorts of things, and he is working hard to ensure Kim Dongyoung will see that he has no affiliation with such folk.</p><p>Kun and Yangyang have been helping him along the way, providing him with lessons of etiquette – Yangyang’s noble upbringing before his untimely flight from his family home a great source and a hallmark of excellence – and even dancing lessons – which Ten, a natural in any art that involves maintaining a perfect body image, excels at, and to this day, he believes the lessons were for Kun’s sake, rather than his own. Their efforts must culminate in the truth, and Ten hopes – he hopes so dearly – that he finds it with Taeyong, if he cannot seem to discover it within himself.</p><p>If only his heart could rest easy, knowing that in either outcome, Ten is not alone.</p><p>“Kun...” Ten breathes, searching for his friend’s eyes, once he trusts himself enough to speak.</p><p>The words are stuck in his throat, fear keeping them in check. All it allows is a desperate plea, the stutter of Kun’s name over and over again, panic seeping into its color so much so that Kun’s strong hands crawl towards his face, cupping his cheeks. His thumbs begin a gentle caress to soothe his nerves. The action scares the fear away, and Ten is amused at the mental image of Kun in a fight with his anxiety – Kun is soft, infinitely soft, even after years on the streets have roughed him out, so Ten is always wildly amazed when Kun’s darker side emerges and he has to hold his own in a fist fight. And although Kun’s expertise in physical altercations are of a greater grandeur than the gentleness with which he treats the people he loves, Ten finds the manner in which Kun shows his affections, his love and his support, has a bigger impact than his skillful hands in a fight could ever have.</p><p>(That is to say, watching Kun fight does have… quite the impact on Ten’s <em>body</em>, at least. Though it is a guilty pleasure, and he would rather not let Kun know what that does to him…)</p><p>“Who do you think I am, Kun?” Ten surprises himself with the question when it finally leaves the depths of his heart, the lack of its presence already keenly felt as his heartbeat picks up yet again. In anticipation of Kun’s answer, Ten tries to duck his head and tear his gaze away from Kun’s calculating one, but Kun ignores his attempt, following Ten in his movement before he speaks.</p><p>“If I was King Taeyong, I would want you to be Chittaphon,” Kun tells him, and there is no doubt about his earnestness as his eyes glimmer with pride. His hands have fallen from his face to take ahold of Ten’s instead.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Kun’s nod speaks volumes of his conviction. “I would want Chittaphon to be a creative, intelligent and strong young man.”</p><p>Ten’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Is that what you think I am?”</p><p>Something shifts in Kun’s expression, soft, pink edges growing stiffer ever-so-slightly, and his mouth falls open with unspoken words. It is as though Kun’s brain has stopped working momentarily, catching up to the effects of his doing a minute too late. How he still manages to rasp out, “I do,” is beyond Ten.</p><p>The room is silent after that, as both Ten and Kun attempt to process everything. Ten is the first to break it.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, low and full of disbelief still.</p><p>A beat, and then Kun replies, much in the same manner, “You’re welcome.”</p><p>Their hands fly apart, as Kun rubs his hands dry on his pants – a nervous habit of his even when there is no sweat present. Ten knows Kun is hesitant now, believes he has said too much, revealed too much so Ten – Ten and his dumb mouth – make an attempt to lighten the mood.</p><p>“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to pay me a compliment,” he teases, with a foxlike smirk that Kun knows so well. Kun takes one look at Ten, a disbelieving scoff passes his lips, and then he turns away again, shaking his head with a fond smile.</p><p>“I pay you enough compliments, <em>your Highness</em>,” Kun counters, and <em>oh</em>, how Ten loves it when Kun bites back. “You strut and preen like a peacock whenever I do.”</p><p>Ten gasps in faux-offense, clutching a hand to his chest.</p><p>“I do not! Name one ti—”</p><p>“When we were practicing dancing the other day and I complimented you afterwards, you literally wouldn’t stop saying, ‘<em>Oh, Kun-ge likes my dancing, huh,</em>’ the entire evening.”</p><p>For all that Ten wishes he could deny it – wishes he could deny the accusation that he actually does not care to deny it – it is, truly, a very convincing example. Ten had even wiggled his lower body, too, shook his butt and winked, while Kun merely turned his back on him and rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Fair enough,” Ten acquiesces, leaning into Kun’s side. “But Kun-ge <em>really</em> liked my dancing, huh?”</p><p>Kun then pushes him away again and Ten laughs, considering the tension in the air eased. When he sees that lovely smile, hiding in-between red ears and dimples, on Kun’s face – the one he only ever wears during his fits of exasperation towards Ten – he has his confirmation.</p><p>Ten does not feel afraid anymore.</p><p>“Do you really think I could be the prince?” he asks Kun, cautious but determined, and with a tremble in his voice that betrays his insecurity.</p><p>Kun hums in thought. One side of his lips curls upwards, and he huffs. “You know. I <em>would</em> want you to be the little boy I saw all those years ago.”</p><p>Ten frowns, “I don’t understand…”</p><p>“Oh,” Kun makes, alert. As if he had told a secret never to be revealed to anyone. “It’s nothing. I just saw him, once. A long time ago.”</p><p>“What? When?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Ten insists, unable to comprehend how Kun could ever keep something so vital from him.</p><p>Kun shrugs, and suddenly, he seems at a distance, far away from Ten in the mental realm, hollow-sounding in his speech, “It’s unimportant, that’s why, and more than a little embarrassing. I barely—I barely got a good look of him.”</p><p>“Will you tell me about it?” Ten looks up at him, eyes shiny with hope. “Please?”</p><p>For a second or so, Kun gazes at him with an unreadable expression, and Ten does his best to mask his eagerness, for he does not want to force Kun. Kun is too selfless, in most ways, a natural caretaker who will put other’s comforts and wishes before his without ever complaining, and Ten must only bat an eyelash for Kun to treat him just the same. Ten would hate this to be the reason Kun is opening up to him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ten starts before Kun can answer. “I don’t want to force you. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Ten,” Kun then says, sighs, but then proceeds to smile as though he never did. “As I said, it’s a bit embarrassing, I think, so. I may keep that part a secret.”</p><p>Ten, who is not always one for neither patience nor restraint, waits for Kun to start his story without another word, hands curled into fists in his lap. Something feels off, though Ten cannot put his finger on it, and he comes to the conclusion that he had better not dwell on the emotion, as he has had his fill of dread and sorrow for the night and is unwilling to allow it further welcome.</p><p>“It was June,” Kun lifts the veil, slowly, inch by inch. “I was ten, ironically.”</p><p>At that, Ten rolls his eyes. “You know, not everything relating to the number ten is ironic when it’s also in any way related to me.”</p><p>Kun bites his tongue around a smile, counters, “Yes, <em>I know</em>, but not everything is inherently about you.”</p><p>“Just… go on.”</p><p>“The prince… must have been the same age around then. There was a parade for the crown prince’s birthday, and the royal family travelled through the city to have the lesser folk look at them and cheer for the princes,” Kun says. “I remember… it was really hot, unbearingly so, but. My father took me to see them. Had me on his shoulders, even though I was far too heavy.”</p><p>“That sounds nice,” Ten comments, because he remembers how much Kun constantly misses his father.</p><p>“It was,” Kun agrees and smiles at Ten for a fleeting second before he continues. Ten’s heart falters at the sight. “I’d never seen this many people in one place before. I didn’t understand what was so special about the royal family. But—” Kun laughs, self-deprecation dripping from every up and down of his voice, “that’s when I saw <em>him</em>.</p><p>“Prince Chittaphon. I couldn't stop staring at him. Which, before you ask, is not the embarrassing part. I set off running as soon as my father put me down, because he was gone so fast and I—I didn’t know what it was, but I was intrigued. I called out his name, though I knew he wouldn't hear me in that crowd of thousands, but I called ‘<em>Chittaphon, Chittaphon!</em>’ for the slight chance that he might look at me.</p><p>“I fought my way through the crowd, I didn’t stop until I was right in front of him, and then, like a fool, I reached out my hand and—” Kun quiets down, blindly searching for Ten’s thigh to rest his hand upon. A gasp escapes Ten. “The prince. He sat straight, as though he was the king and not his uncle. So proud and serene, which is impressive as it is concerning, for a ten-year-old. But I—I had the absolute pleasure to make this picture-perfect façade of the untouchable royal crumble.”</p><p>“How?” Ten asks, trying his hardest to ignore the thumb rubbing across his thigh in slow, barely-there strokes.</p><p>“I made him smile,” Kun simply says, mirth dancing a waltz with sadness in his tone, “I won’t tell you how, though. I won't live it down if I do.”</p><p>“What happened afterwards?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Kun shrugs. His fingers still. “I was on my way, then. I didn’t ever see him again.”</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>,” Ten concludes, sarcastic to a fault. “You’re almost making me feel I was there, too.”</p><p>Normally, Kun would rebut him with an equal amount of sass, so Ten already braces himself to laugh everything off, to enter that familiar back and forth between them and perhaps ready himself for a night of more restless slumber once Kun believes Ten to be properly distracted for him to leave.</p><p>But Kun does not sass him, does not tease, nor does he give voice to annoyance of any kind. Instead, Kun levels him with a look so intense, so serious, that Ten has to swallow down the lump which has formed in his throat. Kun’s face – soft, pink, squishy, the cotton candy so sweet Ten would love to have a taste of his own – breaks out into a brilliant smile, so sincere and lovely, and Kun surprises him with earnestness.</p><p>“Maybe you were,” he says, then urges, “make it part of your story.”</p><p>It takes Ten a moment to process what Kun is asking of him – between the two of them, Kun is a far better storyteller as is, though Kun is not demanding him to make up a fairytale; Kun wants him to allow such an unassuming little peasant boy into the story of a lost prince, realizing that the paths of two people, unlikely to ever cross due to their difference in social status, did cross after all. Once, when they were children, and now, fourteen years later, for the second time, as adults with troubling pasts and uncertain futures, with only each other’s presence as comfort.</p><p>Ten decides to indulge Kun – to indulge himself – and dives into the fantasy, so he begins to imagine himself as the young prince, “A parade, you say? We must have been the very center of attention. It sounds like something I would enjoy.”</p><p>Kun chuckles, “I bet you did. As I said, you’re a peacock, not just when people compliment you.”</p><p>“<em>Proud and serene</em>,” Ten repeats, reminding Kun of his own descriptors. “I definitely liked the attention. What I didn’t like, was the heat. I do love the sun, yes, but... I don’t suppose my garments were light, so I must have been pretty warm and uncomfortable in them.”</p><p>“You certainly weren’t showing it on your face.”</p><p>Ten hums, “Of course not, I am a prince. If I ever falter, my reputation would be ruined. Which is why, when I saw a boy running along to follow our car, I tried my hardest to ignore him at first.”</p><p>“How rude of you, prince Chittaphon,” Kun teases.</p><p>Ten slaps the hand on his thigh in retaliation, but it makes Kun laugh harder and the grip on his thigh stronger, so really, Ten is the true loser here.</p><p>“Anyway... that boy was probably a little thin, and like most peasants, not too clean.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Am I wrong?”</p><p>“No, you’re rude,” Kun reiterates, and it makes Ten cackle.</p><p>“There were guards, too, but he dodged in-between. Like... he wanted to be seen, so desperately.”</p><p>Ten does not look at Kun, painting the image in his head by himself. Kun dodging the grabby hands of the guards, ducking and bending just so he can reach Ten, who feigned ignorance, who would not allow himself to smile at the antics of this strange boy.</p><p>“He did,” Kun breathes his confirmation, sounding oddly uncertain still.</p><p>“And he called out my name, I heard him every single time, but—I tried not to smile. I couldn’t smile, my uncle would scold me if I did,” Ten explains, diving deeper and deeper to illustrate his story. And then, he wonders; he wonders what Kun could have done to make him break, to jumpstart the joy and have Ten’s lips curl upwards in the end. “How did I smile at you?”</p><p>“Like a cat,” is Kun’s rapid fire response, eyes so bright with the memory. “No, better yet, like a kitten! Full of mirth and mischief, like you were simultaneously amused to see the amount of trouble I had caused and burning to cause some of your own. Much like—”</p><p>Kun stops unexpectedly, the corners of his mouth falling to a neutral purse, like he regrets to have started the sentence. Tentative, each word a light, slow step, Ten insists, “Much like what?”</p><p>“Much like you still smile at me,” Kun tells him, and if Ten’s question was measured, then Kun’s answer is lightning speed. “Though I don’t cause as much trouble as I used to.”</p><p>“Ah, Kun-ge doesn’t need to, anyway,” Ten assures him, cuddling into his side as he throws his arms around Kun’s neck, cat-like grin set in place. “Kun-ge already has my undivided attention these days.”</p><p>Kun laughs, but does not shove him away like Ten thought he would, and Ten feels an arm wrap around his shoulders as Kun pulls him closer. Ten sees this as an invitation to rest his head into the crook of Kun’s neck, nestling his nose against the naked skin. Kun’s scent engulfs him in a thick blanket of familiarity, of trust and safety – long-forgotten are those terrible dreams which have plagued him mere minutes ago, replaced by nothing sweeter than Kun, Kun, Kun.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ten murmurs, so glad to have met Kun. “Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for telling me that story.”</p><p>He hears Kun sigh in content, but Kun must sense that Ten has more on his mind than the mere expression of his gratitude, and thus remains silent as Ten speaks on, “I know that—I know that whatever happens tomorrow – whether King Taeyong accepts me or not, whether I’ll ever remember my childhood or not – I’ll… I’ll always have you and Yangyang as my family. I love both of you so much, and I rarely ever say it, even though we’ve stuck together for so long and you took care of me when no one else would <em>care </em>to give me so much as a second glance. So.”</p><p>Ten looks up, raises his head until he is at eye level with Kun – meets Kun’s loving – lovely, pink, soft – gaze, and crosses the line. “I love you, Kun.”</p><p>“That so?” Kun wonders under his breath, and were it not for the subtle glint of happiness in his eyes, Ten would have believed Kun was pretending to be so shell-shocked. “I love you too, Tennie,” he says, to Ten and only Ten, and touches their foreheads together.</p><p>They exchange pretty smiles and nervous chuckles, though they do not mind – neither do they when their noses nuzzle together, their mouths only inches away from each other, every breath so warm and so close that it is intoxicating.</p><p>“Can’t believe all of this is happening... all because you don’t know how to bow properly in front of a prince,” Ten releases another laugh, but it is quiet, everything is so <em>quiet</em> when he leans in, closing his eyes as he trusts to find the way. After all, Ten is naturally drawn to Kun, he cannot miss him.</p><p>But Kun is not there and Ten’s lips meet the freezing air. Afraid he might have read this wrong, Ten opens his eyes and finds a starstruck expression on Kun’s face, his mouth and eyes wide. Ten's complete and utter confusion about the sudden change in Kun’s mood freezes his muscles, but Ten is well-versed in the arts of the cold – it seems as though he can never quite lose this particular companion.</p><p>Kun mercifully speaks after a few more seconds of suffering silence between them.</p><p>“What did you just say?”</p><p>Ten blinks at him, “What?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>,” Kun stresses, “did you just say?”</p><p>“That—that you don’t know... how to bow?” Ten is so confused. “Was that—a deal breaker? I’m sorry, I didn’t, uh—”</p><p>“I didn’t tell you that,” Kun cuts in, distraught. He says it twice, for good measure, but in nothing but a whisper. “I didn’t tell you that.”</p><p>Ten feels as though somebody has just punched him in the stomach, knocked out all the air from his lungs, and all that is left is a hollow shell of himself.</p><p>“What?” he croaks out.</p><p>“I was—” Kun begins, but startles himself into a laugh of disbelief. “Of course, this would be the first thing you remember. I didn’t tell you because I was so embarrassed about it, I thought you'd make fun of me.”</p><p>“I remember?” Ten tests the word on his tongue, trying its taste, its feel in his mouth. It is foreign, but far from unwelcome. “Kun, I remember!”</p><p>Thank God, Kun is a strong man – or else, the force with which Ten throws himself into his arms would have both send them flying off the bed. “I’ve never been so grateful for your lack of proper manners,” Ten says, tears rushing down on his face from all the overflow of emotions, overwhelming and omnipotent, as Kun presses him closer to his chest, suspicious sniffles giving away his own feelings. His heart hammers in his chest, so full and bright with colors, and he imagines Kun’s heart is in sync, two souls bonded together by fate instead of chance. Neither him or Kun believe in any God, no reigning entity or creator of the universe but they believe in each other, as incredulous as they are to have found the other in a crowd of thousands not only once, but twice in their short lifetimes.</p><p>Ten draws back so he can see Kun’s tear-streaked face, smiles prettily at him, “You were gone so soon. I barely even blinked and you vanished from my sight. Taeyong—” Ten’s voice breaks, and he laughs as another memory strikes him— “Taeyong had to remind me to maintain my composure because you distracted me so much.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Kun says, and Ten cannot allow that sad look on his face, not when they finally have something good come off their journey. Not when Ten remembers something – remembers something so seemingly insignificant – because of Kun, because Kun shed light on his own memories and shared them with Ten, stopped denying them a much-needed field of vulnerability.</p><p>So, Ten says, raising a hand to Kun’s cheek, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb, “It’s okay. You found me again.”</p><p>They remain like that for several minutes, basking in each other's presence as they come to terms with the consequences of this sudden, accidental revelation. Ten’s head is still reeling as if drunk and yet, his mind is clearer than it ever has been, more aware of his true identity and he – Ten – is the prince.</p><p>
  <em>Ten is Prince Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.</em>
</p><p>And Kun.</p><p>Kun is but a mere con-man – a man beneath a prince’s status, a man who belongs in the gutter with all the other peasants and thieves he has spent his entire youth around. How could Kun be so delusional to think, to consider, to imagine himself as someone by Ten’s side when he is far from honorable and noble, inadequate as a friend, inadequate as a suitor? His highest hope is to become the court's fool, as this is his real form – the naive, young boy who made the prince smile, who made the prince be less princely, who disrupted his grace.</p><p>It does not matter that Ten wants Kun – it does not matter that Kun wants Ten just as dearly.</p><p>They are unsuitable.</p><p>Kun should have known the line drawn between them was there for a reason.</p><p>Reluctance shows as Kun carefully extricates himself from Ten’s hold and gets up from the bed without a word of explanation. He leaves Ten behind, puzzled beyond belief.</p><p>“Kun?”</p><p>“That’s enough excitement for tonight, I think,” he says, but he does not sound like himself anymore. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, so. We have to make sure that you get enough sleep.”</p><p>He cannot look at Ten, for if he does, he will give into desire and—he must not make this harder on them, as they will have to part sooner rather than later, and their hearts will ache and yearn for what they had, if purely for one night. So, when a hand catches Kun’s wrist, he can picture those uncertain, questioning eyes on his frame so well, but all he does is get down on one knee, the hand on his wrist wanders to his palm for Kun to hold so gingerly. Kun bows his head, and proper as he should have been fourteen years ago, he says, “Sleep well, <em>Your Highness</em>.”</p><p>Ten is too stunned to protest Kun stealing himself out of the room afterwards.</p><p>He stands there, next to his bed, all alone with the voices once more, and yet no one there to wipe away the tears this time.</p><p> </p><p>Ten cannot tell whose short, pained scream he hears when he snaps back into reality.</p><p>It might as well have been <em>him</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>don't be mad pls, tell me what you thought instead :&gt; don't be too hard on me tho, it's my first time writing for kunten heh</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/woojinblooms">twitter</a> | <a href="https://curiouscat.me/woojinblooms">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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